Kenna slept until early afternoon, then woke to sunlight flooding the shared chamber. Her whole body ached. The space between her legs throbbed steadily from the god’s all-night use of her body.
“Kenna’s awake!” Lisse announced.
Lisse sat by her bedside in a simple white shift dress, her wrists wrapped with bandages. Kenna’s own outfit was the same. Brigit walked over, arms crossed, eyes heavy with exhaustion from her own long night in the cave.
Something had changed between them all. For almost a decade Kenna had woken up in the same room as Lisse and Brigit. Every moment had been leading to the last night’s ritual.
Now it was over. Soon they’d be heading to a convent, to sit out the rest of their lives with no purpose. The most exciting moment of her life had come and gone.
“How do you feel?” Brigit asked quietly.
“Sore,” Kenna muttered. “And ravenous.”
“I’ll see about food,” Brigit said, and slipped out of the doorway.
“Were you very scared?” Lisse wanted to know. She leaned forward, watching Kenna with wide eyes.
“Maybe at first,” Kenna admitted. She blinked and blushed, then lifted a hand to her neck lightly. She didn’t quite mind the physical discomfort. The pain carried memories of a pleasure unlike any she had ever known. It was only heightened by knowing that she had appeased the hungry god.
She remembered it all too clearly. The sensation of a man’s cock pressing inside her was new to Kenna, and still clear in her mind.
“Do you think you’ll bear the god’s child? Can you tell?”
“I don’t think you can tell that fast,” Kenna said, blinking.
“But do you think you will?” Lisse said.
Kenna shrugged and looked down at her hands.
How had it been, for the foreign warrior? She, at least, knew what was happening. She’d spent years of her life, knowing that one day she would be led to the cavern of the Hidden lake. Knowing she would be chained to await the god’s choosing. To be mounted, or to be passed over.
But all he knew was whatever brother Faluin had said to get him to agree to the ritual. Did he know how many lives they had saved? Did he know what dark spirit had ridden him? Had he expected it to last all night?
Did he remember being inside her, or had the god taken him so fully that the human man knew none of the pleasure?
“Kenna?” that was Lisse, jabbing her shoulder.
“What?” Kenna blinked and turned to Lisse.
“You looked lost,” Lisse said.
“It’s nothing,” Kenna said softly. She struggled out of the bed, each step a jab of pain, and stumbled to the narrow window that looked out over the yard. She was not even certain whether the man had been executed yet.
A quick glance made it clear that he had not. The warrior was in the prison cart again. He sat hunched over, his arms on his knees, his head on his arms.
“He’s still alive,” Kenna breathed. A swell of relief passed through her.
“Yes,” said Lisse. “The abbot had an omen. They won’t cull him until noon tomorrow.”
Kenna stayed at the window, her fingers resting on the rough brick wall.
She felt a bit of wetness at the corner of her eyes.
It seemed pointless to her that he should die, and for what? The hungry god did not demand that his vessels be killed. That was the choice of the monks, who feared disaster if the outside world learned the secrets of the monastery. Kenna had never questioned their wisdom. But then, she’d only ever seen the vessels at a distance. This year was the first time the vessel felt like anything other than a perfect stranger.
And the stranger did not even speak the common tongue. Why worry about him revealing the god’s secrets? Who would he tell? Surely nobody from his distant homeland would care to intervene.
“Come and sit,” Brigit said, walking back into the room.
Kenna glanced one more time at the naked, caged man, then made her way to the bench and sat. They normally had to go to the hall to eat, but she supposed being chosen earned her certain privileges. Brigit had set a bowl of soup for her at the little central table, along with a cup of the water.
She lifted the spoon set there and dug it into the bowl.
“Is it true he ripped the chains off the pillar?” Brigit said suddenly. Kenna looked up from the food and met Brigit’s inquisitive eyes. She paused with the spoon at her lips and nodded, then went back to eating.
“Heavens,” Brigit muttered. “Has that ever…?”
“I don’t think so,” said Lisse.
***
Kenna returned to bed after she ate. She sighed and closed her eyes, savoring the soft mattress that cradled her aching body.
The more she thought about it, the more the idea of the warrior’s death bothered her. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered another moment of their ordeal. His rough hands softening for a moment to trail across her skin. His lips insistently traveling over her body. His groan of relief as he dug his shaft inside her.
The look of confusion and pain on his face when the monks came to fetch them both.
She played with a strand of her hair and stared at the ceiling, thinking.
She had to do something about it. No matter how much trouble it landed her in. No matter what she was risking. The idea of him dying felt worse, in that moment, than any consequence. Never mind that it had always been done that way. She did not want this man to meet the same fate.
Besides, the ritual was over. She had done her part; the hungry god was satisfied. The only life she’d be risking now was her own.
She lay in bed, quietly thinking and plotting, until the bell for supper rang.
“Coming?” Lisse asked.
Kenna shook her head.
“I’m not hungry,” she said. “I think my body just needs rest.”
“I’m sure,” Lisse said with a giggle. “Want me to bring you anything?”
“That’s okay. Thanks.”
Lisse and Brigit left the room. Kenna counted to a hundred, then eased herself out of bed. She’d have to move quickly if she wanted to be back in place before anybody returned.
She poked her head into the hallway and peered left and right. Nobody. Kenna eased out of the doorway and stumbled towards the stairwell.
Male laughter. Kenna froze, but it grew fainter. Moving away, not towards. She began to descend one step at a time, holding her breath. She kept one hand on the rough beige stone walls.
At the base of the stair, she peered into the entry-hall. There was a small group of monks moving down the hall, talking in low voices. She pushed herself out of sight against the stairwell wall.
Don’t come upstairs, she silently begged them. Just keep walking.
Their footsteps grew louder, then moved right past her down the hall. Kenna let out a long exhale of relief. She counted to twenty. Hearing only silence, she poked her head back into the hall.
Empty. This was it. She darted out, wincing at her painfully used body, and inched open the great monastery doorways.
The light outside was golden, the shadows long. She hurried to the prison-cart. The man inside was facing away from her.
She tapped on the metal. He spun and she threw a finger to her lips for silence. His eyes widened and he shifted to the edge of the cart, wrapping his hands around the bars and peering at her. His eyes raked over her face, and her clothed body.
There was a spark of recognition.
She could see him more clearly now, up close and in the light of day. His rugged beauty made her heart skip a beat. The warrior’s eyes were honey-brown, his jaw angular. Full lips, under high cheekbones. He was still young, but faint lines around his eyes marked him as older than Kenna, in his late twenties or just past them.
He reached through the bars and tried to take her hand. Hesitating, Kenna let him. He put his calloused fingers lightly over the bandage around her wrist, then looked up and met her eyes.
“Can you understand me?” she asked softly.
He blinked at her but said nothing.
“You have no idea what’s going to happen to you, then, do you?” she murmured. She drew her hand away from his. “Well, that’s a difficulty. I hope you’re smart enough to run. I don’t think I can watch them kill you.”
The man squinted at her and tilted his head a little.
She bit her lip, thinking–yet again–of the night before. It would have been nice, to see the things he was doing to her. He was so pleasing to look at. Not like the monks.
Kenna put her finger on the lock, then tapped it and looked at him.
“I need a key,” she muttered to herself. “Or tools…”
He pointed to the front of the cart. She tilted her head at him–had he understood her words, or just her gestures?
She followed his finger around to the driver’s seat, well out of his reach. The key was on the driver’s bench.
“That’s blessedly, foolishly simple. I guess they weren’t expecting anyone to free you,” Kenna said, talking more to herself than to the man. She took it and brought it back to the door of the prison cart, glancing over her shoulder at the monastery and briefly searching the windows for figures. None.
She put the key into the lock and turned it, then hesitated. She met his eyes again. He was staring at her, hard, his hands still around the bars.
“I know you don’t understand me, so I don’t know why I’m bothering,” Kenna said. “But you’ll have to go fast, and quietly, okay?” She held her finger to her lips. Then she pointed away from the monastery, in the direction of the waterway. Then Kenna moved her fingers like running legs.
Slowly, frowning, the southern warrior nodded.
“Okay,” said Kenna. She opened the door and stood aside.
He stepped out of the cage.
His thighs were thick as tree trunks, and pure muscle. So was his whole body, for that matter. He was a full head taller than her, and broad shouldered. There was a faint scar across his chest that she had not noticed before. At her pointed gaze, his soft cock grew slightly.
“Absurdly handsome,” she muttered softly, staring at him more openly than she meant to.
She simply couldn’t help it. He was a wonder, and unlike anything she’d ever seen. None of the monks were built of muscle.
Certainly, he was unlike anything she’d ever felt. She raised a hand to the back of her neck, her cheeks feeling hot, and gulped.
He stood in front of her and peered down, then grabbed her hand. A shock of sensation wormed through her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you clothes, or food, or anything,” Kenna whispered. “I had to go quickly. And I have to get back now. And you have to leave.” She pointed away, to the water again.
He tugged her around to the front of the cart, finger to his lips. She frowned and shook her head; he beckoned.
Was there something he wanted her to see? She followed reluctantly.
He lifted the driver’s seat. She hadn’t realized it was a chest as well as a bench. The warrior drew out a bundle of clothes and a sword. He stepped into a pair of trousers, drawing them up over his muscular ass and tying them around his hips.
“Okay,” Kenna muttered. “Um… I have to go now, or I’ll be in more trouble than I could possibly explain. I hope you escape.”
She couldn’t say what came over her, but she reached out and touched his bare chest. He looked at her, and she moved her hand up to touch his jaw. The warrior bent his head down to hers.
Their lips met, the kiss reigniting memories of other kisses, shared the night before in the dark space under the earth. She blushed and turned away to leave, but he grabbed her shoulder and towed her back to him.
“I can’t,” she said to him. “Or they’ll kill me, too. Please, I have to…”
Faster than she could react, he grabbed her and tossed her over his shoulder.
Gripping her in place with one arm, the warrior snatched his remaining clothes and sword with the other. Then, Kenna slung over him, he bolted away from the monastery.
***
If she screamed, they would find him and kill him. Kill both of them, maybe.
A momentary panic gripped Kenna, but although she squirmed the warrior’s grip on her was tight.
He reached the dock, where their little fishing-boats sat tied to the wooden structure, and tossed Kenna into one of them. She landed roughly, wincing, and tried to stand. She fell back down as he jumped in, the boat rocking wildly and nearly capsizing.
“Hey!”
“Over there!”
She pushed herself up and peered back at the monastery. A group of three monks were running towards them, robes hitched up over their knees. Others began to spill out of the doorway.
“Damnation,” Kenna muttered. “You’ve got to be kidding.” Would they believe she was a prisoner? No, not with the warrior escaped. He could never have reached the key on his own. She had no option now but to run with him.
The warrior drew his sword and sliced through the knotted rope holding the boat in place. Tossing the naked blade to the bottom of the boat, he scrambled for the oars that lay there. He thrust two into Kenna’s hands and grabbed the other pair for himself.
The warrior began to row frantically, his shoulders and back heaving with each pull.
Kenna was exhausted, but her arms were not so sore as the rest of her. And what choice did she have? If he were caught, she’d go down with him.
She began to row.
***
By the time they reached the river, there was a great distance between them and the monks. Still, Kenna could see the other two boats urgently rowing after them.
Then the river current grabbed their dinghy and tossed it down-stream. Rowing did not feel so difficult now. It was more a matter of steering along the current than propelling the boat.
In no time at all they were a good distance from the monastery. Surely the monks were following, but Kenna had not seen or heard sign of them since they’d entered the river’s mouth.
The warrior indicated that she should keep going and tossed his own oars into the ship. Kenna skillfully kept the little boat to the center of the river while he tugged on his leather boots and drew his tunic over his head. He sheathed the naked sword he’d tossed into the boat and strapped it around his waist.
“I don’t see how this will work,” Kenna informed him, as he picked up the wet oars again and peered down the darkening river. “They will have sent a rider to the local lords, already. It won’t be long until the huntsmen are after you. After us.”
He turned over his shoulder, giving her a long, assessing look.
“I know,” Kenna muttered. “You don’t understand a word I’m saying. But it feels better, I think, to say it out loud.”
He turned back around to stare down the river, then began to row again. Kenna sighed and did the same.
The daylight was gone soon after, the world inky and bathed in the moon’s silver. The river glistened with reflected light, but the forest on its banks was built of impenetrable shadow.
Soon she couldn’t make out his features anymore. Still the warrior rowed. Kenna paused to stretch her arms, wincing. She was hungry, and tired, and still miserably sore from the night before.
He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. Her lips parted as she drew in a sharp breath. Kenna’s heart fluttered. Here? Now?
But he didn’t move his hand lower or peel away her simple dress. Instead he removed his hand and patted the floor.
Am I the only one who can’t stop thinking about it, then? Kenna thought. Or does he feel it, too, every time he looks at me? The memory of what we did, in that cave? Of how it felt to have his manhood buried in me? She didn’t know whether it was normal to think so non-stop about sex. She’d never craved it like this, but then, she’d never known how it would feel.
He tapped her again, then the floor. He pulled his oars into the boat long enough to take hers gently from her hands and set them aside.
“I can rest? Is that what you’re saying?” she asked. He said nothing but went back to rowing.
She lay down and stared up at the near-full, glowing moon, heavy and high in the sky. They were lucky it was a cloudless night, as the stones jutting out of the river would otherwise have been impossible to avoid.
Kenna turned and glanced at the shadow of the rowing man. She could just make out the details of his silhouette against the horizon. He stared down the river, not looking at her. His powerful body kept stroking the oars, propelling them further from the monastery.
She closed her eyes. Against all odds, against the bobbing river’s current and the anxious thumping of her heart, sleep dragged Kenna down to unconsciousness. She floated in and out of dreams until a rough hand pressed on her shoulder, jolting her awake and upright.
It was some unbearable hour of the morning; still dark, but the sky beginning to grow pearly and grey with the sun’s approach. The low light obscured the warrior’s features, but she could see how haggard and exhausted his handsome face looked. He shoved his oars into her hands and collapsed on the bottom of the boat.
Kenna rowed and watched the sky brighten. Finally, the sun emerged over the top of the forest.
The warrior began to stir in the bottom of the boat. She looked down at him and saw his eyes blink open and focus on her. She smiled and nodded at him. He dragged himself up and onto one of the benches with a yawn; he had only closed his eyes for an hour or so. Kenna kept rowing until he leaned over and touched her knee. She froze and looked at him questioningly. He pointed to the woods.
“I don’t know what you want,” she said.
He took the oars from her and navigated the boat closer to the bank, at last sticking out one of the oars to hit against a tree leaning over the bank. The boat slowed and he leaned over precipitously to grab the tree. The boat swayed as his large hands closed around the branch. The boat steadied and stilled, his body an anchor against the flow of the current.
The warrior pointed at her, then at the bank. Kenna blinked and he repeated the motion. She hitched her plain dress up and stepped into the shallows of the river with her bare feet.
Her toes sunk an inch into the mud. Kenna yanked them free and clambered up onto the shore.
The warrior handed her the edge of the cut rope attached to the boat. It was cold and wet from trailing in the water all night, but Kenna obediently hung onto it to keep the boat from escaping. She watched wide-eyed as the warrior took off his sword belt and tossed it ashore. Then he removed his trousers, baring his legs and firm ass, and tossed those to shore too. She’d
“What are you doing?” she giggled, admiring his body. He shot her a glance and jumped into the water, thigh-deep. He pulled the rope back from her and tilted the boat half-way over so it took on water. He shoved it deeper into the river. It floated a little away from them, riding lower and lower on the water until the current lapped at its edges and swallowed the boat entirely.
“So they don’t see where we came ashore?” Kenna asked. But the man once again said nothing, only strode up the shore, half-naked and half-hard. He drew his pants back on, making them wet, but not so wet as they would be if he’d worn them into the water. He buckled on his sword.
She wondered how hard it would be to make him entirely hard. She wanted to see it, by the light of day. Kenna blushed and blinked, staring away from him. You’re mad, she told herself. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about sex? They were running for their lives and her whole body still hurt; it was hardly the time. She turned back to the warrior.
He hesitated and squinted in the direction of the rising sun. The warrior slowly turned until it was to their left and they were pointed more-or-less south. He put a hand on Kenna’s back and urged her in that direction.
They had not walked more than ten paces when they heard a horse whinny.
The warrior froze and grabbed Kenna’s wrist. She looked in the direction of the noise, across the river. She couldn’t see anything, but his grip did not relax.
“Sweep the bank,” she heard a man bellow suddenly.
The warrior grabbed Kenna. He pushed her down onto her stomach and lay his body on top of hers. One of his hands wrapped around her to clamp across her mouth. His weight pressed heavily on her, crushing her against the ground. She thought she could feel his hammering heart against her shoulder. Together they peered across the river.
Heavy hoofbeats, and bodies crashing through the forest’s underbrush. Hunters, on their trail. But their side of the river was silent. Had they left on the other bank, they would already have been caught. And if the warrior had not sunk the boat…
We’re dead, Kenna thought, with a strange acceptance brought by her exhaustion. They’ll see us, surely.
A troop of men in blue-and-silver rode along the far bank. The warrior tightened his hold on Kenna.
She knew those colors: they belonged to a local lord named Beldon, who was patron of the monastery.
Kenna knew the monastery would stop at nothing to catch both her and the warrior she had released, if only to protect the sacred secrets of the old ways.
The troop of men passed out of sight, crashing along the bank in search of footprints or signs of the boat. She counted to ten, then tried to stand, but the warrior still pinned her down. He shifted on top of her, his hand still on her mouth, and eased his other hand under her body.
She craned her head over her shoulder to peer at him. He looked back at her and drew his hand away from her mouth, to his lips. She nodded. Still, he didn’t get up.
He must want them to get further away, she thought. Perhaps he fears they’ll hear us move.
But he ground his crotch against her ass, and she could feel a bulge press against her. Kenna bit her lip and closed her eyes.
This certainly was not the time, but what could she do? They had to be silent. Stopping him would make noise.
And if she were being honest, she wanted it, badly. If it weren’t for fear of being caught, she’d pull her own skirts up around her waist and welcome him inside. Feeling that bulge against her inspired a soft throb from her own body, despite her fear.
What she’d do to feel that kind of pleasure again. Her first taste had been intoxicating. Having a god inside her had changed something deep in her.
The warrior lowered his head beside hers and pressed his lips against her neck. He exhaled slowly, quietly. The bulge of his cock pressed hard against her ass as he pushed at her body. He rubbed until he’d nestled himself into her cheeks. A groan so low she could barely hear it escaped his lips.
The space between her legs dampened with desire. She pushed back up against him, wriggling her body back and forth. The motion didn’t just rub her against him; it also ground her clit deliciously against the ground. The warrior tightened his grip and pushed back, rubbing his bulge hard on her and panting in her ear.
Long minutes passed before he finally rose up off her. Kenna pushed herself upright, even though she wanted to keep rubbing her sensitive nub against the ground. The front of her shift was covered in dirt. She brushed it away and looked at him.
He wouldn’t meet her eyes. There was color high in his cheeks. His cock was still visibly erect through his breeches. Her eyes fixed on it, and she had trouble pulling them away. He ran his hands through his long hair with a short exhale, and then pointed southward, into the woods.
Kenna nodded and they began to walk.
***
By late afternoon the sky was gray. The wind whipped through the trees, fluttering the leaves and warning of a coming storm.
Hunger gripped Kenna’s stomach like it never had before. Some hours past, they had found a bramble of blackberries and cleaned the whole bush empty. But it was not a real meal.
Her feet ached from the walking; though she was used to going barefoot, she was not used to walking for such a long time. The whole day had been nothing but climbing and descending, climbing and descending. Now they were climbing again, up a rocky wooded hill.
Fortune was on their side. As the first fat raindrop hit Kenna’s head, she noticed the overhang.
A great rock jutted up at an angle, creating a shelter of some fifteen feet of covered ground. It was not quite a cave, but unless the wind drove the rain straight into the opening, it would provide protection from the imminent storm. She pointed it out. The man nodded and they altered their course to reach it.
They arrived just as the blustery sky built to a drizzle. Not five minutes later, the rain was steady. Water coursed down the hillside around them and fell in a curtain off the lip of the overhead rock. The rain obscured the lush landscape, turning it gray and blurry rather than the dense greenery they’d been pushing through. The smell of wet stone filled her nose.
Kenna cupped her hands and reached them into the splashing rain. She drew the water inside and to her parched lips, then repeated the motion. The man beside her stretched a hand into the rain as well, but he did not drink from it. He just let it beat against his tan skin. Kenna looked at him and recognized a note of sorrow in his eyes.
Then it was gone. He moved further back into the shelter. He rolled his head, stretching his neck. With a sigh, he unbelted his sword and set it to the side. She turned back to the rain.
She could feel him looking at her.
Kenna glanced back. Their eyes met, and she blushed a little. He looked different clothed. But she still couldn’t get her first views of him out of her head. The image of him naked, afraid but glorious, in the flickering lamplight… Kenna bit her lip and swallowed.
She simply could not stop thinking about how good it had felt.
He shifted closer to her until they were side by side. After a moment, the warrior slowly wrapped an arm around her waist.
Kenna leaned thankfully against him, glad to have his muscular body touching hers once more. They sat side by side, watching the rain fall just inches in front of them.
His chest rose and fell steadily. She didn’t think her own breathing was so calm and even. All she could think about was the warmth of his hand gripping her side, and the thin layer of fabric between his grip and her skin.
Was it wrong to kiss him? She peered up at him. After a moment he glanced down.
“I’m glad you can’t understand me,” she murmured, staring into his honey-brown eyes. “Or else, I’d have to watch my tongue. I couldn’t say things like, ‘I want you to fuck me,’ or ‘I want to see your big cock again.'” Her cheeks reddened, that such words were leaving her mouth. But what was the harm? She could say anything to him. He’d never know what it meant.
His lips parted; one eyebrow raised. She smiled faintly. He smiled back, and let his hand fall lower, from her waist to her hip. Kenna’s breath quickened.
“I can’t stop thinking how you felt inside me,” she whispered. Kenna leaned a little more against him, trying to show with her body that she liked the direction he was going. She put a hand on his thigh.
The man seemed to understand. He squeezed her hip, then turned Kenna and pushed her down, so her back was on the rocky ground and her knees were pointed towards him. He knelt over her, meeting her eyes, and put a hand questioningly on one knee.
She rose up on her elbows and nodded to him. Her breath quickened.
The ritual had been purposeful and directed. This was different. This was pleasure, and her excitement had no tint of fear to it.
He pushed her skirt up over her knees and spread them slowly. His eyes stayed fixed on hers, gauging her reaction. When his hand started to slide down her thigh, moving from her knee towards her center, she narrowed her eyes and lifted her hips up towards him.
That made her intentions clear enough. He smirked and pulled the small cloth covering from her crotch, easing it past her knees and over her ankles. Then his fingers sought her opening and teased her there, trailing lightly up and down the crease of her lips. A light moan escaped her.
There was a part of Kenna that could have let that moment stretch on forever, could have watched the handsome warrior tease his fingers over her. Could have stared into his eyes, so full of lust and desire, for hours.
But there was another part of her that needed more, desperately, and now.
Kenna grabbed the front of his tunic in one fist and pulled him over her. He laughed and planted one hand next to her shoulder, the other still at her pussy. His face drew towards hers. Her breath hitched when his mouth was inches away. He hesitated, then closed the gap. His lips brushed softly against hers. Their mouths teased at each other. He tasted like rain and blackberries.
She could feel warmth dripping out of her. Her body was begging for him.
The man lowered himself to his elbow, deepening the kiss and resting his iron chest lightly on her body. His other hand still rested on the opening to her tunnel.
She throbbed, needing his fingers in a desperate way that she did not understand.
Kenna moaned and squirmed her hips up against his touch.
The warrior pushed himself back up so he could watch as he dipped his fingers inside her. First one, then a second. His fingers slid easily between her wet lips, vanishing inside her. He grunted and slid them deeper, up to the knuckle, then slowly drew them out.
She still felt sore, but she was so wet that it didn’t hurt. It was more an awareness she felt than a pain.
She could see his cock hardening in his breeches, straining for freedom. Panting, Kenna sat up and fumbled at his laces. He let her, without helping–just kept sliding his thick fingers in up to the knuckle, then dragging his hand back out of her.
“Yes,” Kenna moaned as he rammed his fingers harder into her. He was kneeling now, no longer balanced on his other hand; he brought it up to cup her head and started to kiss her again.
Moving by feel alone, she finished unlacing his breeches and tugged them down his body. She moved her hands back around to his front, trailing over his firm, warm body, until one of her hands bumped into his shaft.
She’d only felt it in her body, and against her stomach and ass; she hadn’t held it. Hadn’t gotten a good look at it, not fully erect. She felt it now and ran her hands up and down his length. Her lips quivered as she moaned against him. So that was what had been inside her.
No wonder it had felt so good. Until him, she’d only had the pleasure of her own fingers: they could not possibly compare to the rod she gripped now.
If he had not already fucked her, she would not have believed that such a thick cock could possibly fit inside her.
He panted against her, pulling his head away and tilting it back as she ran her grip swiftly up and down his length. She panted as his fingers kept dipping in and out of her.
Kenna moaned, her eyes narrowing.
He pulled his hand out of her and gripped her dress, working it up over her body. Kenna moved to help him. Soon the loose shift was on the ground, pillowing her head. Her naked body was on the cold, dirty stone. She grabbed at his tunic and he swiftly drew it over his head, revealing his muscular frame. She trailed a finger over the scar on his chest, then peered up and met his eyes.
He exhaled hard and took her by the shoulders. The warrior pulled her head down, towards his shaft.
Kenna peered up at him, confused. She wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he seemed intent on something. She placed one hand back on his cock, the other on his chest. She gave him a stroke.
He grunted and pulled her down to the floor, so she lay on her side, her head even with his thick shaft.
“What do you…?” she whispered, knowing he didn’t understand her.
He ran a thumb over her lips, then guided the tip of his cock to press against them as well.
Kenna’s eyes widened. Slowly, she parted her lips. He inched his hips forward, pushing the end of his manhood into her mouth until there was no room left. A long groan snaked out of his mouth.
The monks had said the god might use her body in any manner of ways. She hadn’t known this was something a regular man might want, as well. She closed her eyes and widened her lips, mindful to keep her teeth far from him, as he slid his manhood in and out of her mouth. One of his big hands cradled the back of her head.
She glanced up at him, though it was difficult to with his cock impaling her. His other arm cradled his head. His soft lips were parted, his eyes closed. He moaned and dug himself back into her.
She tried taking in more of him, forcing her head further down his shaft.
He moaned and gripped the back of her head more tightly, grinding himself forward into her. He bucked his hips. Pinning her head in place, the warrior started to slowly, deeply, fuck her mouth. His cock filled her, pressed into her. It was too big for her to take it all in, but he pushed further, as deep as he could, grinding his tip against the back of her mouth as another pleasured moan escaped him.
She tried to breath and panicked, wrenching her head back against his tight grip.
He let go of her and watched as she drew in a deep lungful. Then he put his hand on the back of her head again and drew her back to him. She let him. This time she inhaled as his cock left her and held her breath as it filled her. He built up his rhythm, holding her head in place and going faster until his cock pumped swiftly in and out of her. His fingers were buried in her hair, his teeth gritted.
Kenna’s biggest problem wasn’t the ache in her jaw, or the lack of air.
It was the desperate, unaddressed throbbing between her legs. She pulled her mouth back away from him and drew herself up along his side. He watched her, his eyes narrowed in lust and his lips parted softly.
“I need you,” she said. “Fuck me.”
She put a hand on her maidenhood, trying to make her needs known. He put his fingers back there, but she took hold of his shaft and stared him hard in the eye.
He smiled. She let go of him, and he pushed her onto her back.
The burly warrior grabbed his cock by the base. He spread her legs with his knees and lined his member up with her opening, rubbing up and down her lips until he found her angle and pressed inside.
“Yes,” Kenna said, as he slowly slid his cock into her tight body. She felt herself stretch around him.
Her eyes flickered closed, then open. He was studying her face intently. She wove her hands into his long hair and nodded.
He finished burying himself to the hilt. He paused there for a moment, with a breath of satisfaction.
“I never had a man before you,” Kenna murmured. “I’m not sure I need another, after. Holy hells, your body is perfect.”
One of his hands propped him up. The other closed over one of her tits and squeezed firmly.
He drew his cock out and pushed it back in, moaning.
It was raining harder now, a torrential downpour that washed away all sound. Nothing could be seen outside the overhang, just a curtain of grey water. They were no longer dry; splatters of wet drops ricocheted off the stone ground to dash against them.
The southern warrior bowed his head, gritted his teeth, and started to quicken his thrusts. He drew his hand away from her breast and moved it lower, to thumb at her clit as his cock bobbed eagerly in and out of her body. Kenna arched her back up off the ground and screamed in pleasure as she had not been permitted to during the ritual. A chuckle escaped him at her sound, and he began to fuck her harder, faster.
The rain pummeled down around them. Neither noticed, too absorbed in the movement and warmth of each other’s bodies.
Each thrust of his thick member brought Kenna closer to losing herself. At last she did, pleasure rocking through her body. One suspended moment felt like eternity, and then she was back, lying on the rocky ground with the man’s big cock slicking wetly in and out of her tight little body.
He came after she did.
The warrior pulled his long, wet cock out of her opening and emptied his seed at the edge of their overhang, where the water would wash it away. She watched ribbons of cum pulse out of him and splatter on the ground.
“I suppose that’s for the best,” Kenna whispered, her body pleasantly exhausted. “But I wish I could have felt you spill it in me. Like you did when the god rode you. It felt good, the way your cum pumped out of you.” She bit her lip. It was fun saying such ridiculously inappropriate things, knowing the statuesque man in front of her had no idea.
Breathing hard, he lay down on the cold stone beside her. His eyes bore into hers. He traced a hand across her lips.
“I wonder how much you remember,” Kenna whispered. “I wish I could ask you. I wonder if you liked it. Not before, or after, I know. But during. Being in me. Was it all the god, or were you there too?”
The man sighed and trailed a hand down her stomach, then lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed it. She giggled.
She traced a hand down his cheekbone, to his jaw, shadowed with stubble. His honeyed eyes were intense on her.
Kenna drew her hand back and placed it on her chest.
She wanted him to know her, to know who she was. It was strange, how close she felt to him although he didn’t seem to understand a word she was saying. She supposed it was sex that brought them close. Sex, and the ritual beneath the earth.
But even if they did not share a tongue, they could at least share a few words, couldn’t they? She wanted to know his name. She wanted him to know hers.
“Kenna,” she said, tapping her collarbone. She put her hand on his sculpted chest and gave him an inquisitive look, eyebrows raised. He blinked at her. Slowly, he put his hand on his own chest, over hers.
“Kenna?” he said.
“No.” she shook her head. She pulled her hand back and tapped her own chest. Pointed at herself. “Kenna.”
She pointed at him and waited.
He put his hand on one of her breasts and pinched the nipple.
“Kenna,” he whispered, with a smirk. She grinned, biting her lip, and nodded.
He drew his hand away, putting it on his own chest.
“Gowain,” he said.
“Gowain?” she repeated, pointing to him. He nodded.
Kenna smiled and rested her hand against him. Gowain.